Dangerous Liaisons
by pussyriot
Summary: Roxanne is a girl in perpetual search of something, something she can't quite put her finger on. She travels to New Orleans, only to find her boyfriend in bed with someone else. A chance encounter with a disarmingly handsome monster throws her completely off balance, and it may just prove to be everything she'd been looking for. Rated M for language and future SMUT.
1. Chapter 1

The wind flew through my hair as I zoomed down the wide street at full pelt. At either side of me were luscious green and brown fields with the occasional giant oak tree in the middle of them. I'd been driving for the better part of an hour, having landed in Shreveport airport that day. Henry and I had planned this trip for months, and I was finally there. "New Orleans mother fucker!" I yelled at the top of my voice, laughing at nothing in particular. Charles, my boyfriend of a year, was studying medicine in New Orleans, and we'd been apart for months. I'd been spending my year off before university working in a small theatre on the left bank of Paris, folding play bills and showing people to their seats... and having the occasional rumble in the dressing room with a leading man... or two. I shook my head, I wouldn't think of such things. It was my opportunity to reconnect with Charles, I'd done some awful things, and I felt terrible for them. I'd always had this problem. No matter how many times I 'fulfilled my dreams' they always seemed to change. It was like an itch I couldn't scratch. Chronic dissatisfaction was the slightly poetic way of putting it, but people always seemed to get hurt because of it. I hated that Charles was yet another unsuspecting man to be caught in the proverbial headlights of my fickle nature. But I would make it up to him... as soon as I found out what was making that rattling sound in the engine of my vintage G2O. I was looking for a decent place to park, and then I spotted one. Up ahead, in the middle of yet another field. It was a vast red bricked building, with beautiful windows and wooden balconies running all the way around. But, at closer inspection, I noticed the lack of glass in the windows, and the dark tinges in the paint. The house was surely empty. I pulled into the long, dusty driveway and parked just in front of the house. I was in the middle of inspecting the engine, when I heard it, the hoarse animalistic cry of a man in intense pain. For a moment, I was stricken, torn between doing the right thing, and driving off. I hurried back around my car and prepared to hop in, when I heard it again. I groaned, reached into the glove compartment for my small handgun, and headed into the building.

Inside, it seemed even bigger. There were ominous bits of wood and brick lying everywhere, as well as what looked like disused hospital equipment. The scream sounded again and I knew I was close. I took the corridor to the left and sprinted down it, checking every room to find them empty. I stopped just outside the last one. I could hear ragged breathing, and a malicious female laugh. I took a deep breath, gripped the gun in my hand and charged in. I was just in time to see her raising a knife high above her head to plunge into the midriff of a young man that was strapped to an old hospital bed. I did the only thing I could think of in that moment. I raised the gun and shot twice at her. After that, everything was a bit of a blur really. I watched as her body seemed to fall i slow motion, my ears ringing from the shot. She hit the ground with a mighty thud and I just stared at her for a while. Then I remembered the reason behind my murdering someone. I hurried over to the bed, and, without making eye contact with the man, I began to undo his bonds. I could tell he was willing me to look at him, but I couldn't. I turned away, and reached into my pocket for my phone. "Please," He rasped. I swallowed, and looked into his eyes. They were of a bright, sapphire blue, surrounded by dark blonde lashes. He was handsome. Very handsome, with striking features and short hair to match the blonde lashes. "Thank you," He said, with a deep english accent. Who would've thought, the only other British person I'd met in America, I'd killed for. "You're welcome," I replied.

"You're not for around here," He said, eyebrows raised. I turned away, and replied

"No. I'm from England," i spotted what must've been his shirt on a nearby table, and I picked it up. That's when I realized that I couldn't very well help him into his shirt without attempting to stop the bleeding all over him. "Oh you poor thing," I managed. I pulled off the open button down I'd been wearing, leaving me in only my deep red camisole and denim shorts, and I ripped a strip off to wrap around his bloody arm. He shook his head, "It's okay."

"No, you're bleeding... profusely."

He shook his head again, "No, bring me her body." My eyes widened in alarm.

"... What do you mean to do with that?"

"Just trust me, I know what I'm doing."

I made my way carefully to the lace that she rested. The only way I could think to do it was by hoisting her up from under her armpits, and dragging her over. So I did, I pulled, and eventually managed to push her up to the bed. I turned away, staring down at my bloody hands, and I was reminded of a line from _Macbeth, 'One cried, "God bless us", and "Amen", the other, as they saw me with these hangman's hands.' _ I shook myself, and turned back around. There he was, with the woman's body on his lap. He had bent down to her chest, his mouth latched against the wound. I felt my breath catch in my throat as I saw him drink her blood. I didn't know what to think, I didn't know what to do.. so I took, in my opinion, the coward's way out, and I, as quietly as I could manage, crept out of the room and fled back to my car.

I spent the next hour or so trying to understand every detail of what had just happened, but at the same time, I was trying to forget it. To block it from my memory, and pretend that it had never happened. I was unsure of whether or not I would tell Charles. But, as I parked the car outside his apartment building, I decided against it. If I was to be in denial about my chronic infidelity, then why couldn't I be in denial about what I'd just witnessed? The front door to his building was wide open, so I dashed up to the third floor and knocked on his door. It took a while, and I heard a few bumps and mumbles from behind the door. When it finally did open, I was greeted with an attractive blonde with legs up to her ears, wearing only a button down. A distinctly male button down. She must've recognized me, as an alarmed look crossed her face and she muttered, "Shit," She adjusted her expression, and plastered on a smile, "You must be Roxanne. I'm Destiny, I'm a friend of Charlie's."

"Babe, who is it?" Charles called, emerging wearing only a towel. The same look of horror crossed his face, it was actually pretty funny, "Oh God, Rox, it's so good to see you... this is Destiny."

"We've met," I replied, "Listen, if you're screwing, that's really okay."

"It is?" They asked, simultaneously.

I nodded, "Yup, I've slept with someone else as well. Anyway, it was nice to meet you. Charlie... be safe, good luck."

That was surreal. I'd pretty much thrown away a year of my life in a few easy words... and I really didn't care that much. After getting back in my car, and driving around for a bit, I came across a bar i the French quarter, and stopped for a drink. The pretty blonde working behind the bar, raised her eyebrows at my request for a shot of tequila. "I've just found my boyfriend of a year in a compromising position with a girl named Destiny."

She nodded, "In that case, I don't care how old you are. You need a drink." She handed me the shot, and I downed it. "The worst part is, I didn't even care. I've been screwing around in Paris. I should be more upset about wasting a whole year of my life over some boy, but I'm not."

She poured me another, "On me," she said, handing it to me. "So you're not from around here."

I shook my head, "From London, England. But I've spent the first part of this year in Paris. I came up here to be with my boyfriend for the rest of the year, before university... but now..."

"You don't have anywhere to stay," She finished, "Well, if you're interested, I'm going out of town for a while and I'll need a tenant for my apartment."

'You'd let out your flat to a complete stranger?" I asked.

She held out her hand, "Cami."

I shook it, "Roxanne."

"Well now we're not strangers. I'm not leaving for a week or two, and you'll want to see the place and discuss rent, so I can give you a few names of good hotels until you decide."

I ended up staying in an artsy little hotel on a corner in the quarter named 'La Rive Gauche'. I checked into a beautifully decorated white room, with a balcony and a view over

the whole of the quarter. I spent some time putting away my things, and freshening up. My pale skin looked tired and oily in the hotel mirror. I lathered on moisturizer and made a start on brushing my wild hair. I'd always liked my hair more than any of my other features. It was long and of a very dark brown that hung down my back in natural ringlety curls... a bit like Sarah Jessica parker as Carrie Bradshaw. The dark circles under my hunter green eyes were enough to drive me to take a long, and restful nap.

I woke hours later to the ringing of my mobile, "Roxanne, it's Cami."

"Oh hi," replied groggily.

"Come out to the bar and I can introduce you to the locals," She said, "Then we can get a spot of dinner."

I moved into her place a week later, and she moved onto 'bigger and better things'. I didn't mention the incident, not once. Which I was pretty proud of since whenever anything big happened to me, I would usually have already have told a small village at least ten minutes after. Cami's apartment was beautiful and spacious and brightly lit with huge windows and balconies. I woke up to my second day in it, unsure of what to do. I knew I'd have to get a job at some point, and I'd been offered Cami's old position by her boss; Reg. But I really didn't want to work in a bar again. I'd done rather a lot of bar work in Paris whilst not in the theaters, and I wanted a whole new adventure. I stepped out that morning with a mission; to find a job, to start a life. It all sounded so exciting, and full of promise... but part of me felt this constant sense of impending doom. I shook it off and counted my blessings; at least I wasn't the one that he wanted to suck dry. Was it a he... or a monster? He looked human, but I knew all too well that appearances could be deceiving. After all, I probably once appeared to be a faithful girlfriend to Charles... and look how that turned out.

I trailed the streets, looking everywhere for work. And I eventually found a vacancy in a beautiful little clothes boutique on a corner in the centre of town. It was named _L'addition, _which I found hilarious due to the number of times franticly frisky couples would call 'L'addition,' to me in that very distinct way when I was working in the bar in Paris, so that they could get home and rip each other's clothes off. It was owned by a man named Thierry Vanchure, who was a sweet guy, quite handsome, but he seemed to me to be a little... melancholy.

I was working my second shift one morning when everything changed for me. It was nearing the end, at about 3:30. She couldn't've been much older than me, I was nineteen at the time. She stepped in, and I didn't notice that she was pregnant until she moved around the sales display. She certainly was beautiful, with long dark hair and exotic features. But there was something in the way she walked, as if she carried a weight on her shoulders. A weight that transcended the baby she carried in her stomach. She wandered over to the counter and fixed a smile that didn't exactly reach her eyes. "Good afternoon Miss," I said, "Is there anything I can help with?"

"Yes actually. As you can probably see, I'm pretty far along. But I want to buy something that I can look forward to wearing after the baby's born. Something pretty to remind me that my youth isn't totally gone."

"Certainly," I replied, "We've some gorgeous things in our new collection. There's one thing in particular that I think will go beautifully with your coloring." I walked to the racks, and pulled out a beautiful pale pink silk dress. It fell just above the knee, and was somewhat of a throwback to the classic looks of the twenties. "It's beautiful," she said, "But I doubt I'll ever fit into something like this again."

"Nonsense, of course you will. You're a beautiful girl, and you will raise heads in this, I'm sure of it."

She smiled, "Thanks, it's perfect," She swallowed, and then I noticed the stray tear rolling down her left cheek, "I'm so sorry... it's just this pregnancy it's so overwhelming."

"Are you frightened?"

She shook her head, "No, it's not that.. oh God, I'm venting to a total stranger."

"Don't worry about it, vent all you want. In the words of Tennessee Williams, a stranger's just a friend you haven't met... although I doubt the kids from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang would agree."

She chuckled and wiped her eyes, "Thank you for understanding. It's the baby hormones, and her father. He and I... we're a bit dysfunctional."

"You're not together?" I asked.

She shook her head, "But due to the circumstances, I'm living with him and his mucked up family. It was fine to begin with, I had a girlfriend, Cami, who I'd always turn to with problems. But she's recently left town."

"Cami O'Connell?" I asked.

She nodded, "You know her?"

"Yes, I recently rented her apartment. I'm living there for the next couple of months," I said, "Listen, I know this is a bit... soon, but if you ever need anyone to talk to about things," I pulled out an old receipt from my back pocket and wrote down my number, "Here, ring me whenever if you want a coffee or anything."

"That's very kind of you," She took the receipt, "I could really use some girl talk now if you can, or when you get of work... or whenever."

"I get off work right about now."

"Well there's a coffee place just down the street, but it's criminally expensive. My place is a couple of blocks away. Now my place, his place, is a little odd. It's more of a compound."

I shrugged, "As long as it's got good coffee, and a place to chat, I'm fine."

She wasn't lying, the place was beautiful. It was set around a sort of square, with shaded balconies and flowers everywhere. She took me up some stairs, and into a reception room just off the balcony. "I was adopted. I've known since I was young, and I suppose the idea of a nuclear family has always interested me. And I'm just afraid that my baby will grow up in a family that doesn't love each other."

I thought for a moment, "It must've been hard for you, but no matter how you feel about the girl's father, you'll always love your baby. Her father will always love her. They'll be no shortage of love in her life, even if it isn't shared between her parents."

She nodded, "I know, but it's a little sad isn't it, that I don't get to love the father of my child?"

I shrugged, "At least you can experience the joys of children without having to settle."

"Hayley!" The door burst open, and in stormed the last person I'd ever expect to see.

He looked as surprised as I must've looked scared. "You," I said, standing up, attepmting not to cower in fear. "You two know each other?" Hayley asked.

"We've met," He replied, coolly.

"Is he... who is he?" I asked.

"He's the father."

"I would've introduced myself the other day, if you hadn't run off as you did. My name's Klaus."


	2. Chapter 2

_Hangover Square_

I woke up one morning, with a cracking head ache, unaware of what I'd done the night before, and how I'd got home. I sat up in bed, and looked around; searching for something, some object to remind me of what had happened. But I found none, and remembered nothing. I hopped out of bed, and padded through to the hallway. Sitting on the table were two empty bottles of red wine. Right, I'd gotten pissed by myself, elegant. I sighed, and began to clear it all up. That was when the phone began to ring. I winced, and hurried over to pick it up, and set it to voicemail. "Hello?" I muttered.

"Hey Roxanne, it's Cammie... You sound fresh."

I snorted, "Apparently I drank my way through two bottles of pinot noir last night. I can't remember a thing, and my head feels like it might implode."

"Oh really," her voice had grown uncomfortably high, "Are you sure, wow that sucks."

I frowned, "Everything okay over there?"

"All's fine. Just checking in, and I want to warn you that there are some weird people in New Orleans, and I mean weird. So please, please make sure you don't invite anyone back to the apartment without being sure that they're not psycho, ok?"

"Yeah sure," I replied, confusedly, "But you know I would do that anyway, right?"

"I know."

I got to work that day to find the boutique empty. As I neared the office at the back, however, I heard some soft crying. I inwardly groaned, having never been good at dealing with other people's emotions, yet I'd had to, two days in a row; first with that pregnant girl, and now with whomever was crying in the office. I took a few steps forward, and gently pushed the door open. Sitting at his desk, his head slumped down, was Thierry, my boss. He looked up as I came in, immediately wiping away any tears. "What's wrong?" I asked.

He shook his head, "Nothing, I'm fine."

I wanted to turn away and accept it, but my recent resolution to become a better person (in light of my chronic infidelity to my ex boyfriend, Charles) caused me to stay. I took a breath, and sat down in the chair opposite him. I reached out, and touched his hand across the table. A move which shocked him, as he looked at me sharply, and I could feel him tense. "Okay," I began, "I'm no good at this, so I'm going to ask you one more time, and whether you say yes or no, I'll accept your answer. Is something the matter?"

"My girlfriend, Katie... she was recently murdered."

How the hell are you supposed to reply to something like that? "My God," I decided to go with, "Thierry, I'm so sorry."

He nodded, "I appreciate that."

"Have the police... do they know who did it?"

He shook his head, as a bitter look crossed his face, "But I know who's responsible, and I'm going to kill him."

For the second time that day, I was presented with something so ridiculous, so far removed from my life and the sort of things that happened in it, that I was struck dumb. I was an articulate girl, who in six months would go to Harvard university for Christ's sake. But I had no answer for that. I had no smart little quip, I had no sardonic flat liner, I didn't even have a nervous joke. But after I let the enormity of what he'd said sink in, it really sank in. I snapped to it, "Thierry, do you really think that's a good idea?" I asked, carefully, "You're in pain, you've lost someone, but if you go after the person who took your girlfriend away, you'll be punished. The law doesn't understand compassion, it won't care that you lost someone first, that you were wronged."

"I know, but I don't care about being punished. Love does things to you, it really makes you see what's important in life."

I nodded, "I don't doubt that," Although I did doubt it, entirely, "But, and I'm just asking as a completely impartial outsider, would Katie want you to risk your life, and your freedom?"

"No one had faith in our relationship. None of her people, none of mine. Nobody wanted us to be together." I was in a bar with him. It was nine o'clock on a wednesday morning, and I was getting trashed in a bar with my depressed, grieving and potentially murderous boss. Fabulous. "Why should you let that bother you?" I asked, taking another sip of margarita, "Oughtn't you to be focused on all the good times you shared?"

He nodded, taking a generous gulp of his, "It's easier said than done."

"Sure, but it's not impossible."

"Have you ever been in love?" He asked.

I thought about that. In my relationship with Charles, there had been no grand revelation. No awkward, yet honest exchange of 'I love yous'. After a certain number of months, the two of us just started saying it, with no thought as to what it meant. And of course it turned out not to have been true, as both of us were adulterers, in my case, a serial one. "No, I wouldn't say that I have."

"Then you can't possibly understand what I'm going through."

I shrugged, "You're probably right, so here's what I propose; we take a personal day, and spend it getting steadily more drunk."

So that's how I ended up drinking for nine hours straight. It was at six thirty in the afternoon when we stumbled out of the bar, and argued about our next destination. "Let's go back to my place," He slurred, "It's awesome, it has balconies... and a square... and... walls."

Those descriptives sparked some recognition in me, but I brushed it off due to the alcohol, "No, let's go back to my place," I replied, "It has air conditioning, and Ellen, plus," I leant in, and in a stage whisper, added, "At my place, there's pot."

And that's how I ended up smoking pot with a vampire in the early hours. Well, I didn't know he was a vampire then, and I wouldn't for a long time. I suppose I just like the way that sounds. We didn't stay at my place, we decided that I would grab the stuff from the apartment, and go back to his. His place was beautiful, it wasn't a house, it looked like... a compound. Like a beautiful boarding school campus, set around a shaded square. I assumed it was the dream-like grandeur of the place that reminded me of something... as if I'd been there before. He hurried me across the square and down a corridor to his room as if we were teenagers about to shag before our parents returned. He told me he had angry neighbors. We chatted, laughed, smoked and drank for hours, Thierry spoke about the times he had with his girlfriend, I took him through my relationship with Charles, and my 'busy hands'. As a serial monogamist, he couldn't understand how I could ever cheat on my boyfriend, and, as a serial adulterer, I couldn't understand how he could've stayed with one person for so long without straying. It made for an interesting debate, not much of which I can remember, but I remember it being interesting.

I woke up the next day, feeling absolutely crap. I noticed I was lying on his bed, he had taken the couch like a true gentleman, meaning he wasn't over... what's her face. I slid out of bed as quietly as I could, and hurried down the corridor. I had one foot out of the compound, when I heard, "Roxanne." The young pregnant woman who I served the other day was standing on one of the balconies, smiling down at me. I hadn't remembered giving her my name, but, after the night with Thierry, I didn't remember much. "Hi..." I struggled to remember her name. "Hayley," She replied with a smile.

"Hayley, it's nice to see you again." It was awkward, to say the least.

"... What are you doing here?" She said as politely as one can in that situation.

"I was just popping in to... go over some stocks with Thierry. He's my boss."

"Of course, he owns the shop."

I nodded, "... It was nice to see you again." I hurried out of there as fast as I could. What the fuck was Hayley doing living with my boss. Small fucking world... but why wouldn't she mention that she lived with the owner of the shop when she came in? Wouldn't that get her some kind of discount? Were they just roommates? All these questions flooded through my mind as I wandered, slightly disillusioned, through the streets of the quarter.

How could... how could I have not noticed... If they were... an item. Did she think we were screwing, is that why she wore that fake creepy smile? I needed a miracle to set my mind to rest. Quite ironically, as I thought that, I passed the local Catholic church. I'd never been massively religious, I'd come to terms with the fact that I would go to hell, and that was that. But, seeing as my life in New Orleans had taken a turn for the theatrical and cliche, I thought, what was one more cheesy movie moment? I ducked into the church, and headed straight to the confession box. It was dark and shady, the perfect environment for my booze and weed hangover. I took a deep breath, "Forgive me father, for.. I have sinned. At least, I think I have... no, I know I have. I committed adultery... several times whilst living in Paris. Is it adultery if you're not married to the man? Whatever it is, it's not right. But it comes natural to me. I am never happy for long periods of time, that's why I move a lot, that's why I leave people and make new friends. Am I broken, or something? But that's not why I'm here. I've noticed some strange goings on in my life. For instance, whenever I go to new places, I feel like I've been there before. It's the same with people. Everyone I meet, seems oddly familiar to me. And my mind is in pieces. I'm forgetting things, then remembering them in pieces. I've a perpetual hangover."

I waited for a response, anything; hail Maries, Our Fathers... even flagellation. But I got nothing. I leant forward, and folded back the small red curtain. I'd been talking to no one, absolutely no one. How ironic, the one time I tried to reach out to the church, my only listener was God himself.

I shot up, and left the box, only to run straight into something solid. The mix of the booze, drugs, lack of sleep and my fragile state with the force of the blow sent me to the ground. I sat up, my head spinning, with ` ringing in my ear. My vision was blurred, but I just made out a hand stretching out to lift me up, supporting my back. "Oh God," I murmured, touching my forehead.

"Are you okay Miss?" A deep voice asked. It had a hint of the european about it. I blinked a few times, and he came into focus. Wow. I felt lightheaded again. I was reminded of the classically handsome leading men from the forties. All dark eyes, dark hair and sharp features. "Hi," I managed, "I'm Roxanne."

He smiled, "Good, you know your name."

I nodded, "Small victories."

He chuckled. I made an attempt to stand alone, but failed, nearly face planting again. "Right," I felt the secure arm around my waist again, "I'll walk you home."

Hi Gang! Firstly, thank you to all my favorites, follows and reviews. Shout out to LanaSalvatore and Totalrandum. Secondly, I've an idea as to how I want this story to progress, but I would really like your feedback on certain things such as character pairings and big plot twists and what not. So please please keep on reading, keep on reviewing and message me with any ideas.

_Pussyriot. _


	3. Chapter 3

His name was Elijah, he was 28 and completely perfect. He was intelligent, sophisticated, kind, funny and, as previously mentioned, handsome. He accompanied me home, keeping his arm fixed firmly around my waist, supporting me. "Do you want to stay in the States after Harvard?" He asked, as we neared my building.

I shrugged, "I've always wanted to write, either journalism or fiction."

"What would you write about?"

"The people I've known."

"You've known? You don't know them anymore?"

I stopped walking, to look at him properly, "I've spent most of my life on the edge of things, just looking in. It's awful, but I've always treated life as a spectator sport, I've had my hobbies, I've met wonderful people, but then I move on. I've picked up a lot on the human condition for so doing."

He nodded, "I know what you mean," A small smile crossed his face, "Do you think these people will appreciate having their lives written about?"

I chuckled, "I doubt it, my life has been one long satire... This is my building."

He looked up with interest, "An acquaintance of mine lives here, perhaps you know her, Cammie O'Connell?"

Once again, the world shrank in size, "Small world," I commented, "I'm renting out her place while she's out of town."

He frowned slightly, "I didn't know she'd gone."

That was awkward, "I daresay she forgot to tell everyone, it wasn't out of malice."

He nodded, "You're probably right. How are you feeling?"

"Better," I replied, "Thank you so much for walking me back. I mean, I'm a total stranger who fell out of a confessional box and onto you. I must seem like a crazy person."

He replied with something charming and witty, but I was concentrating on something happening behind him. Someone I recognized from far away was moving closer at rapid speed. I only realized who it was as he grounded to a halt. "Roxanne," Charles said, a hint of desperation to his voice... or was he just out of breath.

"Hi Charles," I replied, a little surprised, "What's... what's up?'

He ignored me, and looked at Elijah, "Who's this?"

"This is Elijah Mikaelson, a friend... from church."

He didn't believe me, although it was strictly true. He narrowed his eyes, "A friend from church? You've never been to church in your life, you're screwing him, aren't you?"

The conversation had taken a turn for the extremely uncomfortable. Elijah pushed his shoulders back, and asked, dangerously smoothly, "Who are you?"

"I'm Charles, her boyfriend."

"Ex boyfriend," I snapped, "But that's besides the point, Charles, what do you want?"

"We need to talk Rox, let's talk about us."

"Us? Charles there is no us, I thought we'd established that."

He shook his head, "No, Rox," He touched my arm, "You're guilty because you were fucking those guys back in Paris, but Roxanne, you don't need to be guilty-"

"I don't-"

"- Roxanne, you deserve to be happy."

"I am Happy," I almost shouted at him, "You're not listening."

He was taken aback, clearly his 'romantic assault' was not going as planned. He took the idiot approach, he was angry with me, "You've been fucking men left right and fucking centre, I think I deserve a bit more respect than that."

"Excuse me? I haven't slept with anyone in over a month, and while I was 'fucking men left right and centre' as you so eloquently put it, and by the way, men refers to just two, you were screwing that bimbo Destiny."

"She is not a bimbo, you're a judgmental bitch, Roxanne."

"A judgmental bitch who deserves to be happy?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

He shook his head, "You're... you're-"

"-Using your own words against you. Yes I am, it's very easy to," I shook my head, "Charlie, you need to come to terms with the fact that we're not meant to be. You will be happy, because you're young, you're attractive and you're clever. Play the field for a while, and get over it."

"You're cold at heart Roxanne. You play with life, you play with people, and then you just leave."

I rolled my eyes, "Oh Charles, don't let's be morbid. Yes, I like to act my age when it comes to-"

"- Matters of the heart."

"I was going to say personal matters, but you seem intent on being crass this morning, so why deny it? Yes, when it comes to love, I am not yet ready to surrender. As is my nature, and the nature of any young girl, not yet twenty, not yet an adult, but not still a child."

"Immaturity, then?"

"What you wish to call it is immaterial, the fact is, we're over, and to be frank, we've been over for months, with or without the infidelity."

A fierce look of rage took over his usually handsome features. With one elegant movement, he raised his hand above his head, and brought it swiftly down to slap me. I heard the whack, before I felt the sting. A few people on the street turned to stare as I blinked away the pain. "I think you ought to go," Elijah said, with a dangerous tone to his voice. Charles looked as though he might square up to him, but then decided against it, and stormed away. "Are you alright?" Elijah asked me.

I nodded, "Fine, thank you. That's what comes from going out with a maniac... Anyway, I ought to go upstairs now, but thank you for helping me home, and enduring his rudeness."

He smiled, "It's my pleasure, take care Roxanne." He turned, and began walking away.

I couldn't help myself, it was an impulse, "Can I see you again?" I called.

He turned, "It was nice to meet you Roxanne, but my life is extremely complicated at the moment. And, I'm a little old for you."

That was humiliating. One of the few times I'd openly expressed a desire for a man's company, indeed anyone's company, and I'd been turned down. After his refusal, I gave a short nod, and shot upstairs as fast as my legs would carry. I slumped down onto the squashy sofa, and groaned into my hands. "Right Roxanne, pull yourself together. There are other men, there are always other men."

I made a decision there and then that I would thrust myself so eagerly into New Orleans society that I might forget ever meeting Elijah. That evening, I put on a cute dress and headed out to one of the city's trendiest bars _Buika. _I was lucky they didn't ID me, so I hurried straight past the bouncer and to the bar. "I'll have a GnT please," I sat down, and began absentmindedly sipping my drink. "How old are you?" I looked up into a friendly young face. "Old enough, how about you?"

He sat down, "Not old enough," He leant in, "I'm nineteen, don't tell anyone."

"Only if you don't tell on me," I replied, "I'm also nineteen."

He grinned, "Good to meet someone here I can relate to. I'm Josh Rosza."

I shook his hand, "Roxanne Shaw. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"That's an interesting name. Your parents fans of Sting, or Chicago?"

I shook my head, "Nope, they're fans of Edmond Rostand."

He looked blank, "The french playwright who wrote _Cyrano de Bergerac_?" I prompted.

"I have no idea what you just said, but who cares? We're young, in New Orleans and so far, no one has asked for ID."

"Living the high life."

So I made just one friend that night, and he was über gay so definitely a non-romantic friendship, but a friendship nonetheless. He promised to introduce me to the 'high society' of the city, and I intended to hold him to that promise. He spent the next few nights taking me out, telling me who to talk to, who not to talk to, and who definitely had major STD's.

On Saturday, Josh took me out to what could best be described as a frilly punkish nightmare. Hoards of hormonally charged, PVC covered bodies were writhing in the centre of the dance floor, and everywhere I looked there was some artfully draped black lace. Josh sat me at the bar, and I didn't see him for the rest of the evening. I did see Thierry in the corner chatting intensely to a man facing away from me. I was slightly surprised to see him somewhere that seemed not his style at all, but I forgot all about that when the man he as talking to turned around. He was breathtaking. His skin was smooth, flawless and of the most beautiful dark brown. His features were sharp and his eyes intelligent and piercing. I swiveled on my chair and ordered another drink so as to catch my breath. I'd seen good looking men before, sure I had, but nothing compared to the near-supernatural beauty of that man. "Roxanne," Thierry had joined me, he was alone.

"Hello," I replied, "Who was that man you were just talking to?"

He smirked, "Of course, you're female, you clocked Marcel. He's a friend."

"He looked agitated."

"Someone in his care has gone missing, a young girl of about 17 named Divina."

"He's her guardian?"

He nodded, "Yes, he rescued her form an abusive family."

"Poor girl," I muttered downing the rest of my GnT, "I'm off."

"I'll walk you home."

I didn't sleep that night. I moved around my flat, not really conscious of where I was walking, what I would bump into. All I could think of was the missing girl, Divina, and if her experiences matched mine in any way. Years of suppression were all going to shit as memories came flooding back. I worked through the day, not really concentrating, barely listening to Thierry. It wasn't until I had only ten minutes of my shift left that he mentioned something. "Roxanne," He sidled up to me from the office doorway, looking sheepish, "Is everything okay? You don't seem as talkative as you usually are."

I wracked my brains for a suitable answer, when we were interrupted. "Thierry Vanchure," A commanding, high pitched English voice said. I turned to see one of the most striking women I'd eve laid eyes on. With long blonde hair, perfect pale skin and bright blue eyes, her beauty was so obvious, she was painful to look at. "Hello Rebecca," Thierry replied so softly, he almost sounded scared. Her gaze flicked over to me, "I have't met your new employee." She sustained the last syllable of the word to make it sound like disgusting disease. "Oh yes, Rebecca, this is Miss Shaw. Roxanne, this is Rebecca Mikaelson, an old friend of mine."

"That's why you seem familiar to me," She said, "You're Roxanne Shaw, daughter of socialite Marianne Shaw and Lord Anthony Elms."

"MP?" Thierry asked, impressed.

"Yes," I replied, "He's my stepfather. Mikaelson... as in Mr Elijah Mikaelson?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Yes, he's my elder brother. How do you know Elijah?"

I offered a smile, "I had the pleasure of meeting your brother in Church the other day. I stupidly tripped on the way out of the confessional box, and he was kind enough to help me up."

"Yes he can be rather charming when he wants to be. I keep on telling him: he'll never do anything worthwhile with idle charms, they only get you so far with small minded people."

I raised my eyebrows, "On the contrary, charm is a rhetorical device. It's a means of making a good impression and gaining the trust of even the highest most mighty of listeners. Even those who consider themselves to be a cut above the company can't help but be drawn in by charm."

She shot me a catty, but also defeated look. "Thierry, I need you for something."

"Oh.. alright then. Miss Shaw you can look after the shop for a while."

I nodded, "No," Rebecca said, "She'll need to come too, we'll need some assistance."

"This is odd," I stated from the back seat of Rebecca's Ford Fiesta. I thought it funny that someone so bloody proud should own a lowly Fiesta, but decided against making a comment. It was clear that she had some problem with manners. We'd parked across the street from a pretty town house just outside of the quarter. "No it's not," She replied, quickly, "Roxanne, knock on the door ask for Francesca Correa. I know for a fact she won't be back for an hour or so, she's having her haircut. Say you're from the Orleans Chronicle," She reached back and handed me a pass which read _The New Orleans Chronicle- Field Reporter- Ruth Delacy. _"Once they know you're press, her assistants and staff will take you to an upstairs sitting room to wait for her. Make up some bollocks about her company. Directly to the left of the waiting area is her private study, somewhere on her desk will be some documents in a light blue file, I need you to get it."

"Are you out of your mind?" I demanded.

"No I'm not. This is important Roxanne. If we don't get these documents, innocent people will be hurt."

My hand shook as I knocked on the grand front door. It was answered by a very petite red head wearing a headset. "Hello," She said, eyes wide. Secretary, I deduced right away.

"Hello there," I smiled, "My name is Ruth Delacy, I'm from the New Orleans Chronicle."

I handed her the I.D pass. "I was wondering if I might get a quote from Miss Correa on her company's connections to various cartels around the state."

Her eyes widened, "Do come in Miss Delacy. I'm afraid Miss Correa is out at the moment, but she'll be back soon." She took me to the upstairs waiting area, all florals and crystal vases. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

I shook my head, "No thank you."

She left me alone, and I immediately went to work. I pushed the office door open as quietly as I could, and hurried over to the desk. After a few minutes of searching, I found a file that fitted Rebecca's description, shoved it into my bag and rearranged everything. I shot out of there, down the stairs and past the very confused looking assistant with a cry of, "I'm ever so sorry, but I've got to go. My mother's taken a rather horrid tumble and I've got to go back across the pond, for ever. Thank you for the hospitality."

I sprinted down the steps, and didn't stop moving until I'd made it two blocks away and found the car outside a Starbucks. I hopped inside and shoved the file into the front seat.

"I just broke the law," I said, "If any investigation goes into this, It's your ass on the line Rebecca."

"Yes, yes we're all very proud," She put the car into gear and we began cruising down the road, "We need to get out of here. I'll explain everything back at your place."

Vampires, werewolves, witches, ghoulies and ghosties all existed. Yup, I know, ridiculous. What's more is that apparently each species was a mere stone's throw away from my apartment. Fucking brilliant. I sat in stunned silence during Rebecca's explanation, and a good while after. "Roxanne?" Thierry asked, a bit later on.

I couldn't look at him. From my position on the couch, I stared straight ahead, "I just need some time to process."

"You did a good thing, helping us back there," Rebecca said, "And now that we have a human to help us, we can do so much more. It's all for a good cause."

I nodded, "I daresay it is, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that you went through such an ordeal at such a young age, at the hands of your parents." I stood up, and began to pace, "God, this is why I never get attached." I whispered exasperatedly into my hands.

"What do you mean, never get attached?" Rebecca demanded.

"She's so afraid of getting hurt that she never makes any real friends or connections," Thierry explained bitterly.

"You don't know anything about me," I snapped, "I don't want to get too close to people because I'm shit at this... I'm terrible at being a part of people's lives, at being there for people."

"We're not sending you a facebook friend request for fuck's sake," Rebecca snapped, "We're asking you to help us potentially save lives. Get over yourself, we're not the brady bunch."

"Rebecca, cool it," Thierry said, "Look Roxanne, we need someone like you."

"What do you mean?" I demanded.

"Someone smart. You can look beyond things to the bigger picture, what's more important than saving lives."

He had a point, they both did. Part of me wanted to be good, to do good and to help save people, but another part of me, the part that had been dictating my life for the past three years was skeptical. I didn't have the capacity to be the hero. I was neither strong nor humble enough. "I'm scared," I said.

"That's alright," Rebecca's tone had softened dramatically, "We're all a little scared, but we can promise you that you'll be safe. No harm will come to you." I felt a pang at my only being concerned with myself.

I swallowed, "Alright, I'll help you. Now, who's on our team?"


	4. Chapter 4

_Sweet Dreams are Made of This_

It was all rather exciting, my new life as a secret agent. Rebecca took me through the ins and outs, who we were with, who we were against. It turned out that the attractive man I'd seen at the club was a 'close friend' of Rebecca's, meaning I had to back off. Those papers I'd stolen from Correa's house were a manifesto. It turned out the human faction, just one of many in the city, were highly ambitious. They wanted full control of the city, which, to an outsider like me, seemed entirely reasonable as I expected everyone to conform to common law for fear of being outed. Rebecca then accused me of being a communist, which led to a heated political argument.

"There's a party tonight," Rebecca said once we'd cooled down, "I can't go, I'm supposed to be out of the city. Thierry will escort you. There will be a meeting, in the middle of the party for the leaders of the factions. You'll go as Ruth Delacy and say that you're reporting on the rich family of the quarter."

"But your brother already knows me as Roxanne, soon to be Harvard grad," I pointed out.

"For this to work, Roxanne, you need to be able to lie. D'you think you can do that?"

I nodded, "Yes, I can lie quite believably."

"Good. Now the party will be at the compound, but the meeting will definitely be somewhere quiet, secluded and close by. Somewhere neutral. My guess is the cemetery. This means that Correa will have to get her coat form the coat check. So, after about half an hour of your being at the party, go to the coat check, tell them your Miss Correa's assistant, take her coat and put this on it," She handed me a small black plastic device, about as wide as a thumb nail, "It's a recording device. Put it in the hood of her coat and then, once they've returned, retrieve the device and meet me at your place. You can't associate yourself with Thierry at all in front of people, understood."

I nodded, "But... that girl, Hayley, she knows that I work for Thierry, she knows my name."

"Again, you'll have to lie. Here, drink this," She pulled a plastic water bottle filled with what looked like green tea from her bag. "What is it?"

"It's an herb called vervain, it protects you from being compelled."

I took it in a flash and downed it in one," That's... tangy. So what's the dress code."

She suddenly smiled, "Here's the best part of the mission."

I was nervous as I stepped into the town car Rebecca had sent for me. I was frantic by the time it pulled up at the elegant compound. I stepped out of the car, my left leg appearing through the slit of my long, ivy green silk gown. "Welcome Miss," a girl in a smart uniform said, Mr Mikaelsson's party is just this way. The house was beautiful, it was covered in white flowers, and sexy hangings. There was subtle and sensuous music coming from speakers I couldn't see anywhere, and everywhere I looked there were beautifully dressed people, chatting and laughing. I spotted Elijah on a balcony, chatting intensely to a handsome blonde man with one of those faces that seems familiar when far off. I turned form them and went in search of a glass of champagne.

I waited half an hour as Rebecca instructed, and then made my way to the coat check.

"Hello," I said, politely, "I'm Alexis Atkinson, I'm the assistant of Miss Correa, I was wondering If I might have her coat for a minute."

The coat check boy raised his monobrow, "I'm going to need some proof. Have your boss give her consent."

I smiled again, "The thing is, there's something in her coat that she really really needs. This last saturday is a very difficult time for Miss Correa, and if she doesn't get what she needs, she might see red, which is very inconvenient."

He caught the hint, turned the colour of beetroot, and handed me over the coat, "Please apologize for the hold up," he muttered, "I know how difficult you ladies must find certain times... of the month."

I turned away, and attempted to stifle laughter as I walked away. Once out of sight, I searched the coat for an appropriate place to hide the device. It was one of those hoods that could be folded in, and I managed to secure the device in the pouch meant for the hood. I hoped that that would do the trick. I handed the coat back to the boy, "Miss Correa sends her thanks." And made my way back through the party. All I had to do then was to wait, and try not to draw attention to myself.

I made my way over to the food table, toying with the idea of a shrimp cocktail, when I spotted Thierry from across the room. He certainly looked handsome, in fact, he took my breath away somewhat in his nicely tailored suit. I assumed he'd received the Rebecca touch as well as me. "Excuse me, Miss," Brought me out of my scandalous admiration of Thierry. I turned round to look into the face of the handsome and familiar seeming blonde Elijah had been talking to. I had to fight not to swallow as my pulse quickened, what did Elijah know? "Good evening," I replied, cordially.

"May I ask your name," he had a charming smile.

"Ruth Delacy," I replied.

"And you're a guest of Mr Mikaelssons?"

I shook my head, "Worse I'm afraid. I'm a reporter form the New Orleans Chronicle."

He chuckled to himself, and I began to feel slightly disconcerted. "What's so funny?" I asked, keeping the smile plastered to my face.

"It's just... I know you're lying to me, and I find it quite funny."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, curtly.

"Is that so?" he asked, "Well I happen to know that you're called Roxanne Shaw, and that you work in a shop owned by Thierry Vanchure." This was where the lying would come in handy. I let realization cross my face, "Ah, of course, well there's an explanation for that. I did work for Mr Vanchure for a time, but it was solely investigative. I was doing a piece on sweat shops. Did you know that over fifty percent of high fashion is produced in sweat shops all over South East Asia?"

He raised his eyebrows, "I didn't, gosh that's awful. I apologize for my rudeness, I was just instructed by my brother to make sure nobody crashed his party."

Brother... this was the illustrious Klaus Mikaelsson, notorious for his cruelty... shit.

"It's no problem, I understand. I didn't get your name?"

"Looking to quote me?"

I chuckled, "No. My piece on this party won't be extensive. I think my invite was just your brother wanting to form a relationship with the chronicle."

"Let's hope it'll be a good relationship," I couldn't tell if the pleasant lilt to his voice was good, or dangerous. "I daresay it will be one, that's if Elijah Mikaelsson isn't as elusive as his brother."

Klaus let out a loud laugh, "You're funny, Miss Delacy... I presume Roxanne Shaw was just an investigative journalist's cover?"

I nodded, "Yes, that's right."

"I would tell you my name, but you already know it, don't you?"

"Well you are the prominent family of the city, what sort of journalist would I be if I didn't know that you're Niklaus Mikaelsson, on sight?"

"Well done, I ought to enlist your services for myself."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Elijah appear in the balcony again. He gripped the railing with both hands and looked out onto his empire. He looked like a king, good and proud. His gaze swept the room, until finally our eyes met. "Excuse me," I said, returning to Klaus, "I have to use the bathroom." I turned, and made to lose myself in the crowd, edging closer to the coat check. I found it to be empty, so I crept inside, dropping to my knees behind the counter, out of sight. I crawled past a few racks before I spotted it. I located the device, stuffed it in my pathetic clutch bag and crawled my way back out. That was until I was greeted not by the exit, but by a pair of suit clad legs. I looked up into the cool face of Elijah Mikaelsson. He gave me the once over and held out his hand, which I took and stood up. "I think an explanation is due, don't you?" He said, dangerously smoothly, before taking me by the elbow, and leading me through the party. His stride was so rapid, that I had almost to jog to keep up. He pulled me up some steps, down a corridor and into an empty room. I looked around me. It was a sleek office, with leather chairs and a smooth oak desk. I then turned back round to face him. He was a little taller than me, and thus I felt intimidated. He regarded me with an unreadable expression, that left me stumbling over my words. "I'm sorry that you found me in such a position," I began, "I... well I-"

"- I think you'd better start by explaining just how you came to be crawling around the coats of my guests."

"I lied to you the other day," I replied, "My name isn't Roxanne, it's Ruth. Ruth Delacy. I'm a reporter for the New Orleans Chronicle, or at least I'm interning for them for my year off. I wanted to prove myself to them, that I can be more than just the girl that fetches the coffee. I thought If I came here and got a great story about the eligible and affluent young man of New Orleans that the people at the paper would respect me more."

He raised his eyebrows, "Why were you crawling around?"

"I saw you from the floor and I was scared, I wanted some time to myself to work up the courage to come and speak to you. But it seems that you always find me on the floor."

He studied my face, searching for any signs of dishonesty. Then, taking a few steps forward, he gently placed his hands on my shoulders. He looked into my eyes, and said, slowly and clearly, "Why were you on the floor in the cloakroom at my party?"

Something Rebecca said came flooding back to me. Compulsion, the thing that that drink would protect me from. Elijah couldn't know that I had access to such a herb. Without blinking, I replied, "I was hoping to get a story for the newspaper I'm interning for, but I was scared and wanted a moment to myself. I always feel more comfortable alone." That last part was true, I hadn't meant for it to come out, but it did. His eyebrows raised, "Why do you prefer to be alone?"

"It means being safe. Humans are intrinsically twisted and cruel, being alone means escaping that."

He was taken aback. He took a step back, and I shook myself, pretending to have come around from some spell. "Ruth," he began, "You.. you're beautiful tonight."

That took me by surprise, "Thank you," I replied, "You look very handsome."

"But if you ever break into my property again, I will make things very bad for you, understood?" I nodded, "Good." He turned and swept away.

I hurried back through the party with a blur, winding in and out of the crowd, just missing bumping into people. I didn't wait for the town car, I took my coat and made my way through the streets of the quarter, looking at the people with new eyes. Everyone I saw could've been a vampire, witch or demon. A spy looking to rat me out to Niklaus, or worse, Elijah. I took side streets, and alley ways until I reached my building. Rebecca was already upstairs with Thierry, sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of red wine. She looked up, "Thank God you're okay. Thierry said he saw Elijah collar you, and then he saw you sprint out of there as if for your life."

I frowned, "But how did we not pass each other..." Then I remembered one of the perks of vampirism, super speed.

"At least Klaus didn't get you," Thierry said.

"Klaus?" I said, "Compared to Elijah, he was positively amicable."

I took them through how Elijah had found me, what he'd said, how he'd said it. Then I retrieved the device and we uploaded it onto the laptop. Both Elijah and Correa's voices were identifiable, along with a few others. "That's Genevieve," Rebecca said, referring to a smooth female voice, "The new head of the witch faction. She almost killed Klaus and me and told Klaus about Mikel."

"This is hardly democratic," I offered, "The people of this town could potentially be seriously affected by decisions they don't know are being made, by people they didn't vote in."

"If the people know about what we all are, there would be rioting in the streets," Rebecca said, "The less the people know, the better for them it will be. This pact, this treaty will maintain for a while, a few months maybe. But after that, small crimes will be committed and then there'll be a full blown civil war."

"What can we do?" I asked, "How do we resolve it? Which leader can bring harmony to the

factions?"

Rebecca and Thierry looked at each other for a moment, and then said together, "Marcel."

That's how I became a spy for an undercover vampire resistance. Every day I'd meet with Thierry or Rebecca and we'd work for hours formulating some sort of plan, gathering allies. I never actually met Marcel, but from the stories I was told I thought him to be a just and successful leader. A few weeks later, I woke up to a knock on my door. I answered it to find Klaus Mikaelsson lounging in the doorway. "Morning Miss Delacy," He said, cordially.

I swallowed, "Hello Mr Mikaelsson... what can I do for you?"

"You're an investigative journalist," He stated, "I need you to investigate someone for me."

I raised my eyebrows, "I'm sorry, but I don't do freelance. I work for the chronicle, you'll have to find someone else."

"I can't go to your newspaper yes as this is a slightly more delicate matter. The man in question is Mr Elijah Mikaelsson."

"Your brother? But why on earth would you want to investigate family?"

"I can't tell you until you agree now, can I?" He asked, eyebrows raised.

I nodded, "Fair point. As much as your offer intrigues me, Mr Mikaelsson, I'm about to go out of town for some days. So I think you'd be better off asking someone else."

"Oh. Where are you going?"

"Out of town," I repeated.

He nodded, "Alright then. When you come back into town, don't forget my question. You'll be nicely compensated."

I thought for a moment, what would Rebecca do in this situation? I would be able to see into Elijah's life, his schedule, his mind... both brothers' minds if I was lucky. "I plan to be back in town in a week or so, how about we have a business lunch or something, and you can tell me more about what you need done?"

A slow smile stretched across his face, "I look forward to it."

As soon as I was sure he was out of the building, I snuck a look over the balcony, I sent the same text to both Thierry and Rebecca. _I need to talk to you somewhere where we won't be heard by anyone._ An hour later, we were sitting in a bright red Vauxhall Corsa in the bottom floor of an underground parking lot in a town a little while away from New Orleans. I told them about Klaus' offer. "So Nik is suspicious of Elijah," Rebecca stated, "I never thought I'd see the day. It's always the other way round."

"What do I do?" I asked, "I'd be getting a lot of exposure to both of their lives... at least I think I would."

"Won't it be dangerous," Thierry suggested, "Elijah already has his suspicions with you."

I nodded, "But it's an opportunity we just can't pass up."

"How long can you keep up the act?" Rebecca asked.

"For as long as it takes," I replied, "Thierry and I can go over details in Mystic Falls."

"Oh yes, you leave in an hour. I've rented a house on the edge of the town under your name, Roxanne. So it'll be up to you to invite Thierry in. And you mustn't invite anyone else in, d'you understand?" I nodded, trying not to laugh, "I'm serious, Roxanne. Mystic Falls is full of charmingly handsome deadly killers. They will do anything in your power to get what they want, and they can be very persuasive."

I nodded once again, slightly more somberly this time. "I promise to be careful. Right, come on T, we need to pack."

Mystic Falls was the quintessential American small town. There were the local shops, the neat white houses, the quaint town square. And, as soon as somebody new stepped into town, all eyes were on them. Thierry and I experienced this. We were driving through the square in my black GTO with the roof down, everyone in the square seemed to stop and stare at us. "Can this thing go any faster?" Thierry whispered, "All the townspeople are staring, it's creepy, all they need now are pitchforks."

I smirked, "I'm just looking for our turning," I said, craning my neck to read the street signs. After a while, I gave up and slowed up in front of a group of people who looked to be about my age. "Excuse me," I said, politely, "Could any of you guys point us in the direction Cavender Avenue?"

A pretty blonde girl spoke up, "Sure. Just go straight on out of the square, down the street, take the first left and follow the windy lane straight down and you'll be there."

I smiled, "Great, thanks very much."

The house was beautiful. It was a classic white detached suburban house with a huge back garden and a wooden front porch. I pulled out the key Rebecca had given me and stepped inside. "Would you please come in, Thierry."

He stepped over the threshold and took a deep breath in, "This place smells so clean, so fresh."

"A far cry from the Riverfront Streetcar on a monday morning," I noted, "She said she'd arranged for some things to've been put in the fridge."

"Cool, why don't you take the bags upstairs, pick a room and I'll sort out some lunch," he suggested.

The dark wood paneled floor continued upstairs. At the far end of the landing was a hugh arched window with a balcony and window seat. Five doors ran off from the balcony onto three huge ensuite bedrooms, an office, and a giant sparkling bathroom. I picked a bedroom with a double bed with a classic silver frame, dark wood oak furniture and a cute bathroom attached. This room also had a smallish balcony, overlooking the beautiful garden. IN the kitchen, Thierry had laid out plates of salad, cheeses, cold meats as well as a chilled bottle of white wine. "Whoa," I noted, "Rebecca has expensive taste."

He smirked, "I think it's her way of apologizing for being such a hard ass on you."

I shrugged, "I don't know, I just think it's her way of getting things done."

We sat down to lunch, "So we need to find the..."

"It's called a grimoire. It's like a witch's cookbook. The witch in question is one Bonnie Bennet. She's away at school right now, so you have the opportunity to break into her house."

"Wouldn't she've taken her...grimoire to university with her?" I asked.

He shook his head, "She's no longer a witch. She was dead for a bit, but a spell brought her back and that took away her powers."

"Gosh, you supes have it complicated. How do I break into her house?"

"Rebecca gave us an address. I'll stand guard and you'll grab the book."

That's how I ended up breaking and entering for the first time... well the second unofficially, but that's a different story. We were both pretty drunk from the seemingly endless bottles of wine Rebecca had left us. The alcohol left us feeling pretty confident, and we didn't make a point of being quiet or anything. Unfortunately, after having scoured every nook and cranny for the best part of three hours, we couldn't find a trace of grimoire anywhere. We slumped back home, defeated, but still a little wasted. Thierry slammed the front door behind him as we stepped inside the house, "Fuck," he exclaimed, "If it's not here, then it must be with her at school."

I nodded, "It'll be fine."

"No it won't be," He snapped, "I don't want to have to go trailing after some sorority chick, when I'm not even sure she has what we're looking for."

"What's as extra few days?" I replied.

"I didn't even want to be here in the first place, I didn't have to come."

"Then why did you?" I asked, a little exasperated by that point.

"To be with you," He fired back.

I stood in silence, unsure of what to do for a moment. "I really like you," He said, stepping towards me.

"I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't attracted to you, but you lost the love of your life recently. You don't like me int hat way, you're attracted to me, that's all."

"Don't put words in my mouth Roxanne, I know that what I feel for you is real."

"Who was the last person you slept with?" I asked.

"Katie, but-"

"Your girlfriend died months ago, and you haven't had any meaningless sex. You're not attracted to me, you just miss sex and I'm not going to let you fuck me because you miss your dead girlfriend. Thierry, I care about you, don't ruin that. There are plenty of women in New Orleans who would love to be taken advantage of by you. I'm not one of them."

his expression hardened, "You know what, you're right, I don;t like you at all you fucked up slut." And then he disappeared.

That was how I ended up doing far too many shots of tequila at the only place that could pass for a bar in the whole town: The Mystic Grill. I was too far gone the point of flirting with the cute bartender... who I think was called Mike... or Matt, and I was feeling pretty superior. "Why do people fall in love?" I asked no one in particular, "All love can bring is pain and complication and issue after issue. Life would be a hell of a lot more simple if everyone agreed to stop all the nonsense and engage in casual, fun flings."

"I couldn't agree more." Sitting beside me was a beautiful raven haired guy with the most startlingly blue eyes. I vaguely remembered Rebecca saying something about beautiful killers, but chose to ignore it. "And you are?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"Officially interested in you," He replied, "Damon Salvatore."

I smirked, "Well Damon, you certainly don't beat around the bush. Am I supposed to be flattered?"

He returned the smirk, "Yes. I don't find just any woman attractive."

"Just what every girl wants to hear," I replied, "I'm Roxanne."

"Sexy name for a sexy girl. Want to talk somewhere more private?"

"Not until you tell me who did this to you," I replied, "Why so cynical?"

"My girlfriend said that we're bad for each other and now is having crazy visions of her ex, also my younger brother."

"Intense," I replied.

"Now you go, tell me your story."

I shook my head, "It'd take too much effort for such an insipid tale. Yours is much more interesting."

He took a sip of whiskey, "Her name is Elena. My brother is Stefan, they met a couple of years ago in high school and started dating. Then I made the fatal mistake of falling in love with her. They broke up and Stefan left town for a while, then we started dating. Then we broke up and history might be repeating itself."

"Okay, well skirting over the fact that you're technically the other woman, my advice would be to find someone else. This is a small fucking town, maybe expand your dating horizons a little."

"It's a fair idea, but this girl is perfect."

"Why's that?"

"She's beautiful, kind, compassionate..."

"Is she fun... is she interesting... is she clever... is she funny?"

He thought for a moment, "I'm trying to remember a single joke she's ever told... and failing."

"Well then it's pretty obvious to me that she's not perfect."

He chuckled, leaning in a little closer, "What about you, are you perfect?"

I shook my head, "Far from it, but I have many special talents."

"I think it's time we went to find that privacy."

It didn't take long after we'd left the bar for him to yank me down a side street and clamp his lips on mine. I won't deny it, he was a great kisser. That was until his kisses became little nips here and there and it grew a little painful. I could handle that sort of thing, I'd had a few kinky boyfriends in the past, but after a few moments, something odd happened. He paused in between kisses, brushed my hair out of the way and moved down to my neck. I prepared myself for the delicious tingling sensation that would follow, but felt nothing. I opened my eyes, and, before I could blink, I felt an excruciating pain in my neck. He wasn't

just an incongruously beautiful heartbroken stranger, he was a vampire. I struggled fruitlessly for a few minutes before I began to feel a slight numbness surrounding me. The pain had stopped and I vaguely heard a sharp cry. I turned my head, He was on the floor, writhing in pain. "Vervain," he rasped, "Who are you?"

I had no answer, so with my last strength, I pushed myself from the wall and sprinted away.

"Rebecca," I hissed down the phone, "I'm in trouble. Thierry and I had a huge fight, he left. I went to the bar, met a guy, made out with said guy and he ripped a new one out of my neck. Had it not been for the vervain, I'd surely be dead by now. I'm in the house now, but I'm scared. Thierry has taken the car so I'm stuck here, I need help."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Rebecca," I repeated, desperately.

"Yes I'm here," She replied, "Klaus knows who you really are. Elijah doesn't know yet, but it's only a matter of time. I barely left Klaus with my life, I'm sorry, but you're a loose end I can't afford to associate myself with. I advise you to go into hiding, Klaus will be after you. I won't lie to you, with him after you it's unlikely that you'll last the night." The line went dead. My heart sank, "I am truly alone," I whispered to myself, looking around the house that now seemed imposing. How long did I have before Klaus would come to kill me? I shook my head, I wouldn't think of such things, I would focus only on how I would heal my wounds, and escape.

I searched the house frantically for any first aid. I finally found some assorted plasters and bandages in the bathroom cabinet, and settled for dabbing my wounds with vodka so as to clean it. Once it was neatly bandaged, I hurried upstairs and began to pack my things. Back downstairs, I picked up the landline to ring for a taxi when I heard the heavy steps on the wooden porch. The receiver slipped from my hands and landed with a crash on the floor. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way little girl," came a voice. It didn't belong to Klaus, but to the vampire who'd attacked me that night. I took one or two steps to the door, "Why must we do anything at all?" I called, "Haven't you done enough to me tonight?"

A faint chuckle trickled through the door, "You know why I have to act. One can't afford to have loose ends wandering around their home towns. I don't have to kill you, that's the easy way. I'll simply wait for the vervain to leave your system. Alternately, I could kill you, and have myself a nice snack in the process. Either way, I'll make sure you don't run through the market screaming vampire at the top of your lungs."

"How will you get to me in here?" I asked.

"I'll smoke you out if I have to, little girl. I don't want to kill you, I just want this to be over."

I felt a pang at that. I wanted nothing more than to erase the last few months of my life as if they'd never happened. After a moment, I pulled open the front door. He smiled at me, as handsome as Adonis, "You've done the right thing, girl."

I stepped out onto the porch, "You understand if I don't let you in."

He nodded, "Of course."

"How long until it leaves my system?"

"When did you ingest it?"

"... About twenty hours ago."

"Then we haven't got long now," he said, "A day I'd say, or we can make it quick but a little more painful."

"You need to bleed me out," I replied, "Do it. I want this to be over, I want to forget everything."

He nodded, "Okay then," he sat down on the swinging chair, "Lie down, rest your head in my lap." I did as I was bid, somewhat thankful for the rest. I closed my eyes, not looking up into the handsome face. "This will only hurt a little, but it will soon be over." I felt the cool edge of a knife brush against the skin of my neck, before it dug in, causing a sharp intense pain to shoot through me. I cried out, gripping onto his arm, digging in my nails.

I was losing blood such that I grew woozy, and eventually found myself drifting in and out of consciousness. After an incalculable measure of time, I felt as thought the ground had been swept out from under my feet. Was I ascending into Heaven, or descending into Hell? "Hold on," A voice said. A distinctly British, low voice.

_Hey everyone,_

_Thanks so much for reading and reviewing and whatnot. I just want to say that I have an idea for this story, but I would really appreciate your feedback and ideas. Please do message me, and keep on reading!_

_Love,_

_Pussyriot._


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